Tag: Summer

A matter of 12 months ago, bright faced Samantha Watkins left her family home in Wetwang, Yorkshire for a dream come true trip around the world during her gap year, which mummy and daddy paid for. Sadly for Sam, the experience didn’t go quite as expected.

After travelling most major European cities with a promise to buy a floppy hat and move to Paris after university, her journey took a slightly off-key turn. After arriving in Thailand to meet a friend of a friend, she found herself amidst a group of open minded, white, European Liberals. She had this to say:

“They were friendly and made me feel welcome when I arrived and I was like quickly part of the group, like, we had banter and stuff, like, I felt really cool suddenly…”

“They were really chilled people and one guy was so hot, I, like, immediately fancied him, he was tanned and toned and had like the longest curliest hair, ever”

However, things began to get sinister on her first night in the South East Asian paradise, when the sun went down and the party started.

“To be honest I don’t really remember much after the first meal we had before we went to the beach party. Sebastian, the guy I really fancied, asked me if I wanted to try this brown stuff called flax seed, and like, course I said yes because he was so hot! He sprinkled it over my plate and I could see how many coconut husk rings had he on, that he had made himself!”

Sadly for Sam her memory was hazy from that moment, apparently she travelled all over South East Asia without recollection. It was only after her return to Blighty when she looked at the photos on her phone, the seeds of memory sprouted and it came back to her. She spent three months in Noosa on Australia’s Sunshine Coast, eatingand drinking Flax seeds with every meal.

Months went by without her family hearing a word, which is when her older brother flew to the other side of the world to find her. Allegedly he found her accosting staff at a local juice bar in Noosa pleading for more flax seeds. They flew home immediately.

Her family have been caring for her ever since and she is lined for a rehabilitation centre.

It seems the dangers of Flax seeds are unknown, taken in vast quantities it can have untoward effects.

More and more drugs come to our shores every year from all over the world. But none have come from the higher echelons of democratically elected leaders. It is well known that President Elect Donald Trump is a shrewd and canny business man but few would have imagined he try to pull of this stunt.

It seems that while he was distracting the world with talk of building a border wall theme park with Mexico, he was also employing a German father and son duo to produce thousands of ecstasy pills for him. 5,000 carrot coloured ecstasy tablets to be exact, in the shape of Donald’s head with the word Trump emblazoned on the back.

It is thought the drugs would have been sold on the internet under the slogan, “Trump makes partying great again”.

Ecstasy often leads people to dance funnily and sweat profusely whilst loving everything in sight.

One arresting officer commented on the uncanny likeness of the President’s exuberant hairstyle on the pills and said a good hand must have made them.

The White House deny all allegations after The Rambler opened up the discourse. No other news agencies have taken the same stance because it cant be confirmed that Donald is in any way involved.

Yesterday marked the first day of the silencing of Big Ben, for a number of years the clock will not be able to tell the time and confuse Londoners as a result. This is due to the current alcoholism that the clock has found itself in after falling off the wagon a bit and developing a taste for single malt. A rehab team has been sent in to try and sort out the problem.

However, no one is as outraged as the Conservative MP, Jacob Rees-Mogg, referring to it as the greatest tragedy of our time. He insists that the clock should be allowed to keep drinking as it has every right to do so.

The PM, whilst not happy with the idea, didn’t think it good for the country’s image to have an alcoholic clock as one of its main tourist attractions and feared global backlash after the clock began to slur at innocent bystanders.

Whilst other problems of this green and pleasant land, like child poverty and the GP crisis, pale into insignificance compared to the national treasures alcoholism.

Today it can be confirmed that 25 year old Timothy Wretchington, who is going through a quarter life crisis, bought a self help book by a leading guru, as a means of finding a way out of these current doldrums.

He graduated with a First Class Honours Degree in Philosophy from Bristol but since then has struggled with the existential weight of his existence.

“I have done everything I can think of, broke up with my girlfriend of seven years thinking she was the problem…..I went around the world, to India, Australia, Latin America and didn’t post one picture to Instagram. That didn’t help either, my mum actually thought I was dead because I had gone quiet on social media…..so I bought this book….”

The self help book listed improving your emotional vocabulary and to break visceral reactions, or to just try looking a pictures of kittens playing.

They danced into the night, shuffling in white socks while clouds of glitter floated through the air. They sweated, flirted and felt euphoric. They returned to their tents a mess, gurning as the sun came up, and slept until it went.

Now as unusual as this may sound, this happens all summer on our shores and all over Europe. The popularity of festivals has grown so much they are not just attended by peace loving, tripped out hippies with a penchant for rock n roll. Now they cater for everyone.

At a dance festival in Eastern Europe this weekend, popular with the white middle class English, a particularly strong batch of cocaine was reported as making people have the best time they have ever had, anywhere. This feeling of ecstasy spread over the festival site as word got round and the local dealers made a killing.

Tom Love, as he likes to be called, 24, from Windsor, who went to the festival had this to say when we spoke to him at Gatwick Airport this morning on his return from the continent.

“Mate I am still buzzing so much! Can’t believe what a good time we all had, I think I danced bare, for three days straight. I dread to think what its going to be like when I start coming down..

….Hopefully my father won’t find out, but I am already planning on going back out to another festival in a couple of weeks instead of starting my masters, which is what my parents wanted”.

He wasn’t the only one to express such sentiments as The Rambler found out after our reporter was offered a threesome by a pale sweaty couple who were still gurning. Needless to say our man booked himself a plane ticket there and then, thinking of nothing but finding the source of these drugs.

What he found there, was dissapointment. He tracked the drug gang down to a dodgy barn in the woods, somewhere in northern Bulgaria and confronted them with his dictaphone. The gang it turns out, was just a man called Borislava, who had done pretty well in school chemistry classes, and his mangy cat.

He explained, in good English, that the reason he sold the drugs was because of his sick grandmother, whose medical care was very expensive and this was the only way he could afford it. He made the drugs and paid local kids to be the pushers. He insisted he was helping the village economy.

What he said next quite shocked our reporter when he revealed that he purchases all the necessary ingredients from a small pharmacy just round the corner of his house.

“Yes, I have never even seen cocaine or ecstasy I just googled a simple recipe and copied it. I don’t even know a proper dealer.”

Our man asked why people thought it was so good,

“No idea, it might be the talcum powder….”

After a word with our editor in chief, the reporter has decided to take himself around European festivals for the rest of the summer, actually trying to find some real drugs.

Stay updated at The Daily Ramlber this summer for more related stories.

In our in most current section, the aim is to meet the average Britain to see what they get up to on a daily basis. This week our lifestyle and culture reporter was sent deep into the West Country to see what she could find. After three days she managed to find some wi-fi at a deserted Little Chef just outside of Ilminster to tell us she hadn’t found anyone.

But then the man who cleared her coffee cup with a barely recognizable ‘thank you’ seemed just about as everyday as you could get. So taking a chance she asked if he was game to be a feature for Everyday People and Their Everyday Lives, to which he replied,

The man in question, Talbot Winterbottom, 72, of Frog Lane, Dinnington has lived in the hamlet all of his life. In fact he has never been further then ten miles from home. This is because of his love for two things. The once great national game of Tiddlywinks and the traditional dancing of the Morris. And that’s all a man needs he says.

When you think of Morris Dancing, images of aging men with ale bellies and their alewives dancing and whacking sticks in the many lost villages of England, come to mind, and that’s exactly how it happens.

Sadly Talbot’s dance group has lost many of its members due to things like arms bums & tums and Jazzercise becoming more popular, even among the geriatrics of Deep Somerset. He began, what is known in the industry as prancing the Morris, at the age of 9. Since then he has never faltered a dance .

Through his passion for bells and neckerchiefs he found his other great love, Tiddlywinks, and was actually alive for the birth of the modern game in 1955. He is the longest running member of The Dinnington Winking Tiddlers Team. They have never won a game.

(Translated from the original dialect)

“Ever since I can remember I have been dancing and working my wrists. See there isn’t much round here by way of fun for a young lad. My father passed during the Second War due to a case of severe dysentery. My mother thought I might have been homosexual, she figured it was phase but when I kept dancing she realized what I loved. . .

I have seen the decades come and go, but the Morris endures till the end, as does the tiddly winks. I promised my late wife that I wouldn’t stop skipping and flicking, and I haven’t. I will do this to my last breath.”

As cities grow and technology consumes us, this old man still burns the flame bright for a culture that is being replaced. He endures in this green corner of England.

Game of Thrones is back, so no need for the tissues this week. Season 7 of the world’s most liked medieval incest fantasy show, slowed down the main reason the world uses the internet for, pornography.

PornHub reported on Sunday evening that the normal traffic had slowed down by a considerable 4.5 percent. This is at a time when the pornography sites are usually at their most popular, with porn lovers logging on in huge numbers, as most of them have to return to work the following morning.

This is not the first time the show has out done one of the biggest industries, and will probably continue to rival the popularity of masturbation. However, not two hours after the show ended, traffic resumed as normal.

The Rambler contacted Ofcom to see if they had anything to say about the phenomenon, and it wasn’t much. One statistician was kind enough to say this:

“Look, realistically, its one or the other, self pleasure or swords and sorcery, just look at the timing and the traffic statistics from Sunday evening. Game of Thrones is pretty much pornography anyway, so it’s hard to tell the difference from a regulators point of view.”

In related news, fans of the show are calling for the death of Ed Sheeran after his awkward cameo in the first episode.

For all those who don’t like Game of Thrones, Sunday evening seems the best time to be logging on to the adult site.

British summer has arrived and en masse, thousands of pasty bodies flock to the airports searching for some booze and sun.

It has been confirmed by numerous airports around the country, including the big London ones, that the price of a hot breakfast has risen three fold due to the demand rising from the uncommon number of cancelled flights passengers are experiencing.

Manager of Gatwick Whitherspoons, Sally Briskett, has told us that they cant keep up.

“Listen, I’ve had to order an extra 3,000 sausages this week, people are literally gobbling sizzlers quicker than I can say sausage, and with all this Brexit nonsense, pork is dearer!”

With this coming weekend usually a big one for people’s holidays, one establishment in Liverpool airport has had to close after realizing that they could no longer serve cooked breakfast due to the shortage.

“Its a sad day” said Chef Pete from Wrexham, who works at the establishment, “I took pride in my work and now I can’t even slice a tomato”

It is not clear whether the wider economy will suffer as a result of the shortage.

We asked builder Greg Jenkins from Stockport, what he thought of this sloppy mess.

“I’ve been at this airport since yesterday morning, thinking I was on my way to Zante but no, this is my 47th pint and I am still waiting for my breakfast, shocking, absolutely shocking”

Keep up to date on the fry-up famine over the summer at The Daily Rambler.